


And Talk About the Future

by bethagain



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, a detour through melancholy on the way to happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 02:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10265651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethagain/pseuds/bethagain
Summary: It’s been a month, now, since any of them have climbed into an X-wing cockpit for anything but a peaceful errand.The war is really, finally over.Luke waits for Wedge and a handful of other survivors to join him at a forest cabin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for the tumblr writing meme pairing characters with emotions.
> 
> This one is for Luke Skywalker and _happy._
> 
> Thank you to [supermacaroniandsqueezeblr](http://supermacaroniandsqueezeblr.tumblr.com/) for the prompt.

Something in the forest makes a chime like a fine, thin-sided bell.

Something else goes “boing, boing, boing” like the rebound of a spring suddenly released from tension.

Luke stands on the rough wooden deck of this five-room house, borrowed from a former Rebellion general who’s away to visit a new grandchild. The deck juts out over a little cliff, a few meters of rich brown dirt dropping down to a quiet river. The sky is the deep blue of late afternoon. A golden sun shines through green, narrow-leaved trees. It makes bright patterns on the ground between long shadows.

The air is soft around him, a comfortable mid-point between the oppressive moisture of Yavin and the lip-splitting dry of Tatooine. Luke raises a hand, closes his eyes, and imagines he can feel the water rising off the river, exhaled from the trees, brushing over his skin.

The house, behind him, is silent. The cooking room is stocked with food for a week. He’s made sure to bring Alyna’s favorite meemfruit, salt-sweet chips for Follie, dried spikefish for Cass, and a box of sugar drops for Wedge.

There’s also a bottle of very good Corellian whisky, but something’s changed about that. Luke traded for this bottle just a day before the last outpost of the Empire laid down arms and surrendered to the Alliance. It’s been a month, now, since any of them have climbed into an X-wing cockpit for anything but a peaceful errand.

The bottle is still almost entirely full.

The others arrive tomorrow. There’s a generous landing field at the nearby village, room for X-wings or shuttles or whatever they manage to beg or borrow to get here. Alyna’s wrapping up a visit to Leia and Han on Chandrila, where Leia’s busy with whatever it takes to form a government and Han is busy keeping her sane. Wedge has been with family. Cass has been saying goodbye to her squadron, all young pilots who will be taking on peacetime roles. Luke doesn’t know where Follie’s been, but that’s nothing new. He’ll turn up in the morning with another wild tale.

They’re some of the longest survivors, this group that’s meeting here, their paths crossing and re-crossing as squadrons formed and changed, as the Empire tried new weapons, as new planets joined the Alliance or called for help. They’ve seen so many battles that they fly by intuition now, barely needing the comm when they’re together in the air. They’ve patched up each others’ wounds, visible and otherwise. Many times, they’ve been so drunk together that no one remembered the details in the morning.

And now they get to gather here, to spend a week by this quiet river. To drink the good whisky, if anyone wants it. To cook meals and sleep late and sit in the dappled sunlight. To watch the trees making their patterns against the sky. Maybe walk in the woods, figure out what chimes and what goes boing.

To rehash adventures, remember friends.

To talk about the future.

Luke goes inside and pours a tiny bit of the whisky into a thick-sided tumbler. Back out on the deck, he takes a sip and then sets the glass beside him on the rail. Below him, a silvery fish splashes up from the river and then disappears below the sparking surface.

He takes the time to search his emotions, understand what’s happening around him and his place in it. Luke breathes in the soft air, notices the rich smell of the forest, leaves the rest of the whisky untouched. It takes a few minutes to recognize the feeling, to understand it, to accept that it’s right.

The fight’s behind him. His friends are safe. There’s peace and life all around him.

For the first time in a while, with no fear to cloud it, with no darkness at the threshold, with no worry blurring the edges: Luke Skywalker is... happy.


End file.
